December 12, 2008

77 comments:

What do you want to hear? You want me to tell you how beautiful and brilliant your posts are? How they fill my day with wit and insight, controversy and rage? How I comment, as pithily and sharply as possible, with the hopes of being front paged and tagged? How the cast of characters you have amassed here are a regular traveling band of stand-up comedians, iconoclasts, and genuine artistes? Or would you rather I just say...

[Tommy is immitating Marlon Brando from "On the Waterfront"] Tommy: I coulda been somebody, instead of just an ice cream truck driver, which is what I am, let's face it. Debbie: Who was that, Jerry Lewis? Tommy: Jerry Lewis? You thought that was Jerry Lewis? (Trees Lounge, 1986)

Best movie ever made about what is like to be a regular at a neighborhood bar.

We hunt for the tree tomorrow morning. We are in the heart of Christmas tree farm country here in the mountains of NC. As perfect as they all are, it's still difficult to select THE one from the thousands to choose from.

It's been a busy week. We received the green light from the franchise I co-own for me to buy out my partner. We've had a great relationship, but he's ready to bow out. I've been on the go all day to set everything into motion on the transfer.

Selecting a tree will help be therapeutic.

We could drive on up to Joyce Kilmer Forest and cut one there, but the feds look poorly on that type of behavior.

Others are upset that it probably doesn't matter, because the Pres is going to authorize the bailout money anyhoo, using the bank bailout kitty.

Wealthy socialites are unhappy because some swindler stole billions from them, they probably want a bailout as well. Congress may Balk, but President Bush is compassionate, he may acquiesce (did I spell that right?).

As for me, I am happy. My fridge is full, the kids are asleep, and there are two cans of Guinness cooling in the freezer, and I have gone another day without being a partial owner of three of the most poorly-led corporations in the country, so what's not to be happy about?

Finished my first quarter of PhD studies today. Turned in a 30 page paper on beauty, focusing on a particular theologian.

Here's my conclusion:

“We are here to be transformed,” Arthur Danto writes. Later on in his book he adds, “Beauty is a necessary condition for life as we would want to live it.” We are left with the questions of what it means to be transformed and what kind of life we want to live, indeed what kind of life we are called to live. This call is not a moral demand that represses our creative instinct and separates us from this present world in exchange for some heavenly, bodiless, absorption into a nameless “Other”. Rather, this call is given by the Triune God—Father and Son and Holy Spirit—who exist in eternal community, united and yet diverse. This call, this work of restoration encounters us in time and encounters us in particular moments. The nature of this work is among the most important questions in theology. So, it seems particularly helpful to see how Jürgen Moltmann, a major contributor to systematic theology, has worked out this question, and more specifically to see how this work can help us better understand the nature and experience of beauty in our lives.

God is the maker of heaven and earth, indeed the remaker of heaven and earth. We are called not as slaves, but as heirs, to be conformed to his likeness, and join with him in an eternal dance of shared mutuality. Because of this we take particular note of the characteristics of the God who calls all of humanity back into an enlivening relationship. Among these manifold attributes is that of beauty. God is beautiful and God creates beauty. Our participation with this God of Beauty is one of passionate love, eros, in which we are caught up with each other in both constant desire and constant freedom. This Eros with us is God’s own Spirit, who with the Son and the Father, have worked and continue to work for the fullness of life and beauty in the cosmos. Our experience of beauty is that moment in which the Spirit who is raising us up recognizes with us, and within us, the glory of God’s work, wherein we experience a moment of shared life, and hope, and liberation that not only excites us with the fullness but pulls us into its creativity and enlivens our lives with a profound peace and delight.

This experience of beauty is an experience we share with God, an experience that endears us to him even in moments of struggle or darkness or frustration. We are given insight into his being, even as it is not always directly him we are seeing. He created what is good and continues to create, inspiring us in creativity, to take joy in what is beautiful in him, in this world, in music, in art, in relationships, and in all kinds of expressions. It is this intersection of Spirit and eschatology that I experienced on the lawn in front of Blanchard Hall, and have experienced in so many different, not always as profound, ways before and since then. It was an experience of God, a sharing with God of a moment that reflects the eternal moment of his perichoretic invitation. He calls us to share with him beauty of all kinds in our present experiences and in our future participation. Beauty is a gift from God, shared with God. And it is very good.

This experience of beauty is an experience we share with God, an experience that endears us to him even in moments of struggle or darkness or frustration

Wow...Paddy, beautiful and so true.

I'm getting ready to go to a surprise party for my Father's 80th birthday on Christmas Eve. I rejoice in my Father's life, sense of humour, vigour for life and that we are all here to enjoy each other as a family. My sweet husband is going to go to visit his equally aged Mother for the very same reasons. This will be the first time in over 18 years that we will not be spending Christmas together.

When you are young, like some of the more bellicose posters on this blog, you have generations standing between you and

As we get older and people who came before us (great grandparents, grand parents, uncles, aunts and even parents) begin to fall off of the end of the conveyor belt of life.... we begin to appreciate the time that we have left and appreciate those who still are on the conveyor belt.

What a coincidence, we usually cut our tree down from the Joyce Kilmer rest stop in the NJ Turnpike!

Off topic - somewhere along the line, we reached the tipping point where there too much rot among the leaders of our society--from Washington (including Sacramento, Springfield, Trenton) to Wall Street to Main Street to Universities--for us to really recover from these crises.

Nice photo, but the red splotches on the bark remind me of bloody wounds.

Looking forward to reading your excerpt more thoroughly, Paddy O., once the kids are in bed.

Speaking of transformation, I sliced some apples that had become too soft for eating and mixed them into sauerkraut, which I layered on top of some pork. Two hours and 350 degrees later, the transformation is complete.

And indeed there will be time For the yellow smoke that slides along the street, Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; There will be time to murder and create, And time for all the works and days of handsThat lift and drop a question on your plate;Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of a toast and tea.

Education is an extreme act of self-absorption. And, this is not at all limited to folks who take classes covering theology.

This phenomena may be seem particularly obvious when folks take theology classes because they openly write about themselves.

But, it could be argued that spending years focused on filling your mind with esoteric scientific stuff is even more self-absorbing. It's possible that these folks don't even notice the luxury and self-focus of their learning. And, they may develop an arrogance that convinces them their efforts are self sacrificing, noble, meaningful and purposeful. They have faith too.

I too am a swinger of birch trees. And Man, did that ever piss off Grandma Kickline, who wasn't even my real grandma. <--- 10% of true. The tree was actually a weeping willow, and for a pre-schooler, it was full of bounce.

Sitting hereCouldn't help hear you talking to your best friend Say you're not satisfied Things ain't working out with your girlfriend So your searching for someone new Someone to hold you tight, someone to treat you right Though your girlfriend is a friend of mine Here's my number and a dime, call me anytime

There is another one that recently moved in that is 22. He likes to wear bowties. I look him up on google and his family comes from a Boston Brahim pedigree. The grandfather and the father also wore bowties. His last name has a IV in it=gag. His father also paid for his place. As far as I can tell he doesn't work, just travels.

I am resentful of these punks. I busted my ass and paid for this place on my own and have a huge mortgage payment. The condo fees are close to 1000.00/month so these brats parents are also paying this for the twats.

The 25 year old has a catered dinner for friends every Saturday night.

I, on the other hand, come from Waunakee, Wisconsin-the only one in the world-woo hoo.

You talk too much, you talk too much, I can't believe the things that you say everyday If you keep on talking baby, you know you're bound to drive me away

Now you get on the telephone with your girlfriend, your conversation baby ain't got no end Yakety-yakety-yakety-yak all the time, you keep on talking baby drive me out of my mind You talk too much,

I can't believe the things that you say everyday If you keep on talking baby,you know you're bound to drive me away

Well I laid out in the afternoon I start to nappin', you walk into the room with them jaws a-flappin' You keep that motormouth moving morning, noon and night,you keep on talking baby make my head turn white You talk too much,I can't believe the things that you say everyday If you keep on talking baby, you know you're bound just to drive me away

I think you're trying to put me through some kind of test, I'm begging you baby won't you give it a rest You talk about people that you don't even know, keep it up baby I'm gonna pick up and blow You talk too much, I can't believe the things that you say everyday If you keep on talking baby, you know you're bound to drive me away

Don't get me wrong baby I don't mean to complain, but if you keep on talking you're gonna drive me insane You keep on talking all around the clock, I'm begging you baby won't you please stopYou talk too much, I can't believe the things that you say everyday If you keep on talking baby, you know you're bound to drive me away

Home is where I want to bePick me up and turn me roundI feel numb - born with a weak heartI guess I must be having funThe less we say about it the betterMake it up as we go alongFeet on the groundHead in the skyIt's ok I know nothing's wrong . . nothing

Home - is where I want to beBut I guess I'm already thereI come home - she lifted up her wingsGuess that this must be the placeI can't tell one from anotherDid I find you, or you find me?There was a time Before we were bornIf someone asks, this is where I'll be . . . where I'll be

Hi yo We drift in and outHi yo sing into my mouthOut of all those kinds of peopleYou got a face with a viewI'm just an animal looking for a homeShare the same space for a minute or twoAnd you love me till my heart stopsLove me till I'm deadEyes that light up, eyes look through youCover up the blank spotsHit me on the head Ah ooh

Here comes the rain againFalling on my head like a memoryFalling on my head like a new emotionI want to walk in the open windI want to talk like lovers doI want to dive into your oceanIs it raining with you

So baby talk to meLike lovers doWalk with meLike lovers doTalk to meLike lovers do

Ooooh Yes I am a woman in love and I'm talking to you, You know I know how you feel, what a woman can do. It's a right, I defend, over and over again.What do I do.I'm a woman in loveAnd I'll do anything to get you into my worldAnd hold you withinIt's a right I defend ....

WHEN I see birches bend to left and right Across the line of straighter darker trees, I like to think some boy's been swinging them. But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay. Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain. They click upon themselves As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust— Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen. They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load, And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed So low for long, they never right themselves: You may see their trunks arching in the woods Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair Before them over their heads to dry in the sun. But I was going to say when Truth broke in With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm (Now am I free to be poetical?) I should prefer to have some boy bend them As he went out and in to fetch the cows— Some boy too far from town to learn baseball, Whose only play was what he found himself, Summer or winter, and could play alone. One by one he subdued his father's trees By riding them down over and over again Until he took the stiffness out of them, And not one but hung limp, not one was left For him to conquer. He learned all there was To learn about not launching out too soon And so not carrying the tree away Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise To the top branches, climbing carefully With the same pains you use to fill a cup Up to the brim, and even above the brim. Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.

So was I once myself a swinger of birches; And so I dream of going back to be. It's when I'm weary of considerations, And life is too much like a pathless wood Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs Broken across it, and one eye is weeping From a twig's having lashed across it open. I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate wilfully misunderstand me And half grant what I wish and snatch me away Not to return. Earth's the right place for love: I don't know where it's likely to go better. I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again. That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

En la cama - is a good Chilean film I've watched recently. But in a scene that proposes that people who are not settled on a cinematic genre, might have something wrong with them, people who are all over the map when it comes to films they enjoy.

I'm trying to understand how this was meant to enlighten people in the film.

I consume things that are supposedly meant to be foreign to me. if and when I find them enjoyable I keep enjoying them.

This is the dayOf the expanding manThat shape is my shadeThere where I used to standIt seems like only yesterdayI gazed through the glassAt ramblersWild gamblersThat's all in the past

You call me a foolYou say it's a crazy schemeThis one's for realI already bought the dreamSo useless to ask me whyThrow a kiss and say goodbyeI'll make it this timeI'm ready to cross that fine line

CHORUS:I'll learn to work the saxophoneI'll play just what I feelDrink Scotch whisky all night longAnd die behind the wheelThey got a name for the winners in the worldI want a name when I loseThey call Alabama the Crimson TideCall me Deacon Blues

My back to the wallA victim of laughing chanceThis is for meThe essence of true romanceSharing the things we know and loveWith those of my kindLibationsSensationsThat stagger the mind

I crawl like a viperThrough these suburban streetsMake love to these womenLanguid and bittersweetI'll rise when the sun goes downCover every game in townA world of my ownI'll make it my home sweet home

CHORUS

This is the nightOf the expanding the manI take one last dragAs I approach the standI cried when I wrote this songSue me if I play too longThis brother is freeI'll be what I want to be..

Cry me a futureWhere the revelations run amokLadies and gentlemenLions and tigers come runningJust to steal your luck...Double chins and bowling pinsUnholy presbyteriansLand is full of medicineI find it when I'm slipping in...into Michigan

"I wish the rare clumbers would shit in his shoes that sit outside his door."

Alternatively, have you considered baking a coffee cake and leaving it by their door?

You could add a nice neighborly note signed, "love, Tituswhobustedhishumptogethereunlikeyouspoiled littlesexpottrustfundbratswhothinkyou'rebetterthaneverybodyelse." You could draw little hearts and x's and o's to really bring home the point. You get the idea - be creative, give yourself permission to express your deepest most genuine self, that little-boy Titus who loves to be tickled and hugged and told not to worry - the world is a safe place after all.

It's worth a try. Nothing says "I'd really rather fuck you than allow my doggies to take dumps in your shoes but, hey, a fella's gotta do what a fella's gotta do" like a fresh warm loaf. Of banana bread.

LutherM, Thanks, you beat me to it. I had been thinking about Frost's Birches while watching news reports on the ice storms here in New England, storms that have left a million without power and, I dare say, many birches bent.

The groves were immensely peaceful, lying there in the late-summer sunshine of a cool August day, with the breeze murmuring in the tops of the two double-trunked elm trees that rise above them. They seemed to say, “We have reached a reality beyond all your strivings and sufferings; on your terms it is neither good nor bad; you cannot conceive of it. You cannot help us now, anymore than we can help you. But we are serene and timeless, and you are not. We have--secrets, infinitely sad to your mind, no doubt, but in tune with nature. We have known all the suffering you now know and then some; we are beyond your sympathy, as you are beyond our pity. Look: we give you the breath of peacefulness--we are a part of the long afternoon of life; take the hint, go your way as best you can; do not ask too many questions; it will not be long before you join us.

Since everyone is posting lyrics just in case you didn't see the video I posted.

This song just makes me happy.

Well its all right, riding around in the breezeWell its all right, if you live the life you pleaseWell its all right, doing the best you canWell its all right, as long as you lend a hand

You can sit around and wait for the phone to ringWaiting for someone to tell you everythingSit around and wonder what tomorrow will bringMaybe a diamond ring

(chorus 2)Well its all right, even if they say youre wrongWell its all right, sometimes you gotta be strongWell its all right, as long as you got somewhere to layWell its all right, everyday is judgement day

Maybe somewhere down the road awaysYoull think of me, and wonder where I am these daysMaybe somewhere down the road when somebody playsPurple haze

(chorus 3)Well its all right, even when push comes to shoveWell its all right, if you got someone to loveWell its all right, everythingll work out fineWell its all right, were going to the end of the line

Dont have to be ashamed of the car I driveIm just glad to be here, happy to be aliveIt dont matter if youre by my sideIm satisfied

(chorus 4)Well its all right, even if youre old and greyWell its all right, you still got something to sayWell its all right, remember to live and let liveWell its all right, the best you can do is forgive

(chorus 5)Well its all right, riding around in the breezeWell its all right, if you live the life you pleaseWell its all right, even if the sun dont shineWell its all right, were going to the end of the line